Daughter of War
by accioalice
Summary: Clarisse La Rue's perspective during the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. Perhaps that badass warrior facade isn't all there is to her. And how did she and Chris fall for each other?
1. Preface: 1

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to Rick Riordan (and I suppose the Ancient Greeks and Romans).**

* * *

Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares.

I had been living alone with my mom for eleven years before I got out of _that _hellhole. Mom used to tell me how my father was this great military hero who died in Iraq when I was two years old, but she'd grow deaf when I asked why there were no mentions of pictures of him in the army logs. I just assumed that maybe he had a dishonorable discharge and left us in his humiliation.

I hated living with my mom. She was a fashion designer for Prada, and our house would be filled endlessly with models breezing in and out, commenting on her latest sketches and cooing over whatever outfits she had put together on the mannequins dotted around the place. Meanwhile, I'd be sitting in a corner, trying to go unnoticed, but I always managed to receive some reproachful glances from the models.

Mom is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen: she has blond hair in natural waves cascading down her back; bright, piercing blue eyes framed with thick lashes; fair and supple skin that never broke out; a curvy figure that complimented every article of clothing she wore; and a smile that befit the gods. And somehow she gave birth to this fucker of a daughter: an enormous girl with stringy, dirty blond hair and dirt-brown eyes.

Mom always wanted to change me. She tried fitting me in little girl dresses until I grew so big that I literally ripped them apart when she yanked them over my head. The models fondly nicknamed me "The Hulk." When that failed, Mom instead just exposed me to the feminine world: shoes, dresses, shoes, manicures, shoes, makeup, shoes, and more shoes. It got to a boiling point at which I picked up a display of heels at Macy's and flipped it over.

We weren't allowed back in there, which pissed her off, as she had a membership and got all these perks such as discounts and free samples of perfume.

After that episode, it was pretty clear that I wasn't cut out for Mom's fashion world. I tried to study harder in school, but my dyslexia and ADHD got in the way, and I ended up punching a few of my teachers. Instead, I got a gym membership and began working out. I figured if I couldn't be pretty or smart, I'd at least be strong. I hired a personal trainer who constantly pushed; pushed me to be faster, tougher, meaner, better. All my poundage solidified into muscle, and eventually I was able to bench as much as sixteen-year-olds in the gym when I was ten.

Of course, Mom hated it. She constantly complained how I wasn't "a proper woman" and a lot of other feminine bullshit that I put up with. The models would disdainfully look down at me and sniff, nodding in agreement with Mom. They'd convince her that it was "just a phase" and I would "soon wake up" and realize my "true nature."

* * *

On my eleventh birthday, Mom came into my room and sat down, something she rarely did. She usually locked herself up in her studio for days.

"Clarisse, honey." Her face was serious, so I propped my elbow on my bed and sat up. "We need to talk about your future."

"My future?" My forehead creased in confusion.

She nods, and I watch her fake eyelashes flutter along with her bobbing head. I guess she forgot to attach them properly this morning.

"Honey, you just _can't _go on like…this." She waves to the dumbbells in the corner and the workout schedule pinned neatly on the wall. "You need to grow up, Clarisse. I understand that this hobby of yours is well, I guess, gratifying in a way, but honey, you're entering middle school now. It has to stop."

I stared at her for a good five minutes before coming up with an incredibly intelligent answer. "What?"

She took a deep breath and was about to speak again when I waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you! But Mom, it isn't a hobby. It's what I do. I can't just stop. What else would I do?"

"Well, this sounds good." From her pocket, she produced a pamphlet for a girls' boarding school on the east coast: Clarion Ladies Academy. "Here, you'll learn to be a real woman, Clarisse."

I glared at her. "You can't do this."

She put on a sympathetic face. "Clarisse, honey, please. Your father would have wanted it."

"Stop pulling the father card!" I shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You don't _know_ what he would have wanted because he left us."

"H-He didn't leave us, Clarisse. He died an honorable death in Iraq, remember?"

"Yeah, right. Whatever." I fell back on the mattress and rolled over, facing away from Mom.

She sat there for a few moments before standing up and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. As I lay there, my thoughts were boiling. How could she be so pretentious as to send me to some stupid Ladies Academy? I resolved that if she really were to send me there, I had no choice but to leave. I gathered some clothes, money, water, and protein bars then placed them all in a knapsack. Finally I took one dumbbell for defense purposes and climbed out the window.

Now, as a half-blood, this was obviously a stupid decision to go out into the world alone. But hey, I had no idea who I was. To me, I was just a desperate eleven-year-old escaping the tirade of her mother.

I lasted a day.

It went well at first; I managed to walk a good twenty miles before resting. I really had no destination, but I watched enough movies about tough girls living life on the edge to be confident about my predicament. But then I ran into my first monsters.

They were disguised as a typical gang, a group of street thugs dressed in dirty, baggy clothes. I had run into a few of those already, so I just walked past them when I heard one of the say, "Hey, how you doin'?" He stuck out a foot and I went sprawling on the pavement.

Furious, I pulled myself up. "What the hell do you want, punk?" I demanded.

They snickered among each other. As I looked more closely at them, I realized they were different than other gangs I had passed by earlier. These kids were eight feet tall and their grins contained enormous, pointy teeth.

"Get her!" All of them suddenly lunged for me, and I leaped backward, quickly taking out the dumbbell from my knapsack. I quickly counted them. Six in total. Since they were so big, they couldn't move very fast and could only charge in a straight line. I was able to dodge their attacks fairly easily, but they knew I would soon tire. I lashed out with the dumbbell and struck one of them on the head. He crumpled to the ground and ceased to move. The other five redoubled their energy.

"You'll pay for that one, half-blood!" one of them snarled.

"Is that the best insult you can come up with, idiot?" I taunted. They looked at me in confusion, but quickly shook it off as they attacked again. I swung the dumbbell in an arc, catching all of them in their faces.

"ARGH!" They stumbled backwards as a group, shook their heads, and growled. Their eyes were wildly furious, but that was in my favor because their anger caused them to be more reckless. I quickly dispatched of four of them, and the last one, the one who tripped me, glared at me.

"Curse you, demigod," he spat.

I rolled my eyes. "Your insults are so lame; get over yourself." I lunged at him and he dodged my strike. His fist swung out and caught me in the gut, and I doubled over, momentarily out of breath. I flattened out on the ground when he tried to punch me again, then kicked out and tripped him.

"Paid you back," I grinned. When he picked himself up, cursing, I threw my dumbbell and struck him in the stomach, and he fell.

The…whatever they were, laid on the ground, all of them knocked out. But they were stirring again, and I was clean out of energy. My breath was coming in short, rapid spurts and sweat was running down my face in a steady stream. Suddenly, a ball of red fire appeared in the air; when the fire died down, a man stood there. The guy was about six and half feet tall, dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster. He had a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. His eyes were covered by wraparound shades.

I stumbled back and fell. I mean, if you were eleven years old, had run away from home, just fought a group of weird giant things, and then witnessed a guy appear from a fireball, you'd be pretty fucking freaked out, too.

"There she is!" He looked straight at me and grinned wickedly.

The giant things were just beginning to get to their feet again, cursing and shouting. They stopped short when they saw the man, but then ran towards him, yelling. He sighed and without even looking at them, threw his hunting knife and cleanly sliced through all of them. They vaporized into dust.

"Clarisse. It's good to see you finally," he rumbled.

"Wh-Who are you?" I stammered.

"You mean you can't see the resemblance? I'm your dad."

* * *

_A/N: I just finished the Percy Jackson series a few months ago and I wanted to try my hand in writing some fanfiction about it. Oh my gosh, I don't know how I feel about this story quite yet. Any sort of review would be incredibly helpful and appreciated!_


	2. Preface: 2

**Disclaimer: Again, not my characters!**

* * *

I stared at him in disbelief. This guy was my father? But the closer I looked at him, the more I could see my similarities with him. He had that same pugnacious look on his face as I did, his bulky frame reflected mine, and his hair was the same color and texture as mine.

"So, you just took on an entire gang of Laistrygonian Giants," he grinned. "I like it! You got some spunk."

"Father," I said, tasting the foreign word on my tongue. "I am so confused right now."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Typical! Typical! Oh, I love it when they find out. It's so much fun."

His face grew more serious. "Clarisse, you ever heard of the Greek gods? Like, mythology and all that?"

I nodded. I vaguely remembered learning about Greek mythology in school, but I couldn't understand why my father, if he even was my father, was bringing this up.

"Well, I'm here to tell you that it's all real. The gods are real, the nature spirits are real, the monsters are real. Hell, you already know the monsters are real; you just fought off those Laistrygonian Giants!"

I continued to stare at him. In a small part of my mind, I knew he was telling the truth, but the rest of my brain screamed, _What the hell?_

"So, you're a…"

"A god," he finished for me. "Ares, god of war!"

"So I'm just supposed to believe you? I'm…I'm the daughter of a god?"

He bared a shark's grin at me. "Yep. You're a demigod, or a half-blood, so to speak. And if you don't believe me, well, you want proof?"

He twisted his hand and a spear appeared out of thin air in his grasp. My eyes widened and my mouth partly opened. "Oh, my God," I muttered.

"My _gods_," he corrected, smirking at my shock.

"This is for you." He handed the spear to me, and as I gripped it, the tip of it sparked with energy.

"Traditional spear, made of celestial bronze, infused with magical electricity," Ares-Dad said, nodding towards the weapon. "You'll pack hell of a punch with it."

"Thanks, Ar..Father..? But I'm still confused. What am I supposed to do?"

He scratched his skin. "Uh, truth be told, kid, I'm not supposed to tell you. See, gods can't interfere directly with half-bloods, especially their children. But we can guide you. And I've already done that, with telling you about the gods and giving you the spear. And here's something else."

He waved his hand and I felt my knapsack grow heavier. I opened it to find an additional bag of golden pastries, a thermos of apple juice, a portable GPS, a load of cash, and beef jerky.

"The food and drink are ambrosia and nectar. Take some if you're seriously injured, but if you eat too much of it, you'll incinerate—that's some godly food. The GPS is monitored to guide you to your destination."

"Where's that?"

Dad only smirked. "You'll see. Clarisse, you're destined for some awesome shit. But only if you can take it." He took off his sunglasses and I hastily stumbled back; where his eyes should have been were only sockets full of fire. "I expect only the best from you, you hear? Only the best. And if you fail me, well, it won't be too pretty."

And with that warning, he erupted into flames and disappeared.

* * *

I found a small café to process everything. After meeting your dad for the first time, who just happened to be the Greek god of fucking _war _and you found out that Greek mythology is real life, you'd want to sit down for a good hour or two, too.

I had ordered an espresso and panini, and while I ate, I examined the GPS. It was set to somewhere in Long Island, New York, and I was in Phoenix; the trip was around 2,500 miles. Fantastic.

I still couldn't wrap my head around the whole Greek mythology thing. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was all there: appearing and disappearing in a ball of fire, the Laistrygonian giants, the ambrosia and nectar in my knapsack, and the electric spear. Unless it was a dream? I pinched myself hard, but nothing happened.

I also had mixed thoughts about encountering my father. The most prominent feeling was probably fear, as he pretty much handed me a threat: I was to succeed at whatever he wanted me to do, or be harshly punished. I was also pretty pissed about his not being there for the first eleven years of my life. If he was an Olympian god, why had he abandoned my mom and me? Which reminded me, if I ever went back home, I had a bone to pick with my mom about her lying.

Although it was hard to admit, I also had a strain of loyalty, pride, and a sense of duty underneath all the turmoil. I was glad that my dad had finally stepped into my life, and it was pretty amazing to have a god as a father. I was proud that he had chosen me to take on the toughest challenges, and I felt ready for whatever was coming my way.

* * *

I flagged down a taxi and slipped inside. The guy driving was in his mid-thirties, the bags under his eyes droopy, his head balding, and his pot belly straining against the waistline of his jeans.

"How far can you go?"

He peered at me through the rearview window. "What?"

"I need to get to Long Island, New York. How far can you take me?"

"Uh…" The taxi driver looked perplexed when there was a tapping against the window. He rolled down the window and his jaw dropped. Standing outside the taxi was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, which was saying something as I had been constantly surrounded by models my whole life. But the thing is, her appearance kept changing. I couldn't identify what colors her hair or eyes were, the shape of her nose, the way she smiled, or her face structure. All I knew was that she was the pinnacle of beauty and grace.

She flashed a brilliant smile at the taxi driver, whom I almost pitied when I saw the awestruck and dumbfounded look on his face.

"Hi!" she exclaimed. "I think there may have a mix-up here; Clarisse's transportation is all cleared with me. Thank you _so _much though, sweetie."

"Y-Yeah, uh, yeah!" He stammered as she pulled me out of the taxi. He drove away, but promptly struck down a row of bushes.

"Oh, men." The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, giggling.

"Sorry, but who are you?"

She laughed. "No need to look so angry about it! But I suppose you get that from your father; ooh, don't even get me started on that devil."

She smiled warmly.

"I am Aphrodite, goddess of love."

* * *

_A/N: Hope I transitioned Clarisse into the Greek mythology world well enough. Any kind of feedback would be amazing! c:_


	3. Preface: 3

**Disclaimer: Rick Riordan's characters, not mine.**

* * *

I thought I had already gotten my fair share of insane shit that day. Apparently not. I was meeting the woman whom my dad had numerous affairs with for what, the past couple thousand years?

I followed Aphrodite to a train station that I hadn't noticed before. The sign on the top of the station read "Love Express" in tacky, curly script, so I figured Aphrodite must have done some magic crap.

"This is your ticket to New York!" She beamed. "Might as well get comfortable, it'll be at least half an hour, but we can have a nice chat on the way."

We boarded a hot-pink train (really?) and settled in the plush cushions that served as seats in the train car. As the train started to rumble, Aphrodite whipped out a makeup bag from under the seat and started dabbing at her already-perfect eyeliner. I checked under my seat, and yep, there was an assortment of makeup bags, jewelry boxes, hair curlers and straighteners, stacks of clothes, you name it. Every beauty product I had ever seen my mom work with was there, with some additional items that I couldn't identify but suspected were magical.

"Clarisse darling, I am just _so _excited for you," she exclaimed. "Can you just imagine all the fun we're going to have with your story?"

I looked at her, perplexed. "What?" I seemed to be saying that a lot.

She gave me a look of endearment. "Oh, honey, this is just the start! I'm the goddess of _love_, remember? It's my business to know about and look over all love, especially those of heroes! I just _adore _them."

"Love?" I wrinkled my nose. "I don't need that right now."

She glanced up from applying her sheer rose lipstick. "Sorry?"

"My dad just talked to me for the first time in my life. He said that I'm going to face a lot of challenges in my future. If that's going to happen, then I have no need for love."

Silence followed, and I looked out the window in the following awkwardness. The train was moving along the track so swiftly, I wasn't sure if the wheels were even touching the track. Trees and buildings zipped past as tremendous speeds. In a way, I was grateful for Aphrodite's help with the train, otherwise I'd be hitchhiking my way from Arizona to New York. But I was also uncomfortable with the implied meanings behind all her words: she was going to somehow manipulate my love life, which would in turn influence the course of my actions.

"Clarisse. Darling." Her voice was strained. "You don't understand. Love is what makes everything work! If I didn't exist, _Olympus _wouldn't exist."

"Yeah, well," I shrugged. "Maybe later."

"You have one of the most exciting stories! Don't you want to experience true love?"

"What do you even know about 'true love'?" I sneered. "You're married to Hephaestus, yet you've been having countless affairs for thousands of years. Who are you to talk to me about 'true love'?"

Aphrodite's flawless face flushed with rage, and suddenly her expression became ugly. I noticed that the countryside was gradually turning into cityscape; we had reached New York.

"How dare you," she seethed. "How dare you question me. You will regret that."

"I don't know why you're trying to help me in the first place," I snapped. "I'm the child of your lover and I bet you're pissed that my dad chose my mom over you."

She gasped, and suddenly there was fire and lightning in her eyes.

"I now curse you, Clarisse La Rue," she thundered, every syllable dripping with rage. "You may find love just yet, but I swear, you will have to fight teeth and nail for it— perhaps even die. I will make you pay for your insolence."

With that, the train and Aphrodite began to glow pink; the pink gradually turned bright gold, and I closed my eyes. When the blinding light passed, I opened my eyes again and found myself alone, standing in New York City with my knapsack.

* * *

I thought I was fine being dumped in the middle of the city, but it turned out the GPS in my knapsack was set just to "New York City." I guess Ares expected me to find my way to whatever destination he was talking about.

I stopped in a Starbucks to rest. While I was sitting at the corner table, sipping my espresso, a tough-looking, five-foot man made his way toward me. His muscled arms and chest strained against a bright orange polo, and a baseball cap was pulled low over his hair. His hand was clutching a large bat.

"Clarisse?" He grunted.

He was trying his best to act macho, as he puffed out his chest and adopted a tough expression. Two people could play at that game, so I placed my arm on the table, flexing my bicep.

"Yeah?" I said casually.

"I'm here to help you reach Camp Half-Blood."

"Oh? Who are you?"

"Gleeson Hedge, but you should call me Coach Hedge, kid."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for all your support! As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think about this chapter :)_


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